


One Time Spock Walked In On Bones and Kirk Having Sex, and Five Times He Didn’t

by hoosierbitch



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Mind Meld, Rough Sex, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>According to the TOS Enterprise schematics, the captain and first officer share a bathroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Time Spock Walked In On Bones and Kirk Having Sex, and Five Times He Didn’t

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Один раз, когда Спок застукал Кирка и Маккоя за сексом, и пять, когда этого не случилось](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1117651) by [littledoctor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledoctor/pseuds/littledoctor)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】One Time Spock Walked In On Bones and Kirk Having Sex, and Five Times He Didn’t](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786636) by [炏燚 (kait)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kait/pseuds/%E7%82%8F%E7%87%9A)



> Written for [this](http://teamjonesmod.livejournal.com/5309.html?thread=12221) prompt on the [Team Jones Kink Meme](http://teamjonesmod.livejournal.com/). 

_(1. a time he did) _

Serving as Kirk’s first officer differed from his time under Pike’s command in a few key areas. Kirk’s command style was by turns tentative, reckless and undeniably brilliant, his adherence to protocol was unreliable, his decision making process was based more on instinct than reason.

It was not wholly negative – Kirk absorbed information like a sponge: engine schematics, diplomatic treaties, new combat styles, codes and patterns and languages at a speed that left his crew members paranoid that he would take over all of their jobs and do everything himself.

He sped through the hours of paperwork he was required to complete every day, and somehow also managed to memorize not only the crew’s schedules, but also their first names, nicknames, home planets, romantic entanglements, and favorite drinks. He cared for his crew as deeply as Pike had, but without the distance that Pike had been careful to maintain.

Under Kirk’s command Spock spent most of his time on the bridge examining the logic behind his captain’s commands while still trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. Often instead of attending to his duties as head of the science department, Kirk would call him over to talk about the mating rituals of Bonuban’s, or the unusual scent Triptals emitted when aroused (apparently, a surprisingly unpleasant combination of mango and gasoline) or to engage in repeated attempts to get Spock to ‘loosen up’ and participate in knock-knock jokes.

Also, Pike had not been in the habit of engaging in sexual intercourse in their shared bathroom.

Spock’s bridge shift was due to start in half an hour. His intention had been to enter the bathroom, brush his teeth, and urinate. Unfortunately, there was an obstacle in his path. Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy had the captain bent over the sink.

Kirk was bracing himself against the mirror, one knee hitched up over the counter to give McCoy more room, the other foot nearly lifted off the ground with each thrust. McCoy was keeping the captain in his precarious position with one hand under his raised knee and one wrapped tightly around his throat. They were – he would use Kirk’s word for it, as it seemed a uniquely Kirkian encounter – fucking.

Loudly.

He couldn’t quite fathom how Kirk was able to maintain his erection, given the force with which McCoy was penetrating him – a series of fast, forceful thrusts that knocked him against the mirror, the hand not covering McCoy’s on his throat leaving sweaty marks on the reflective surface. His erection was dripping precum steadily, but he was – he was making pained noises. Sharp, high-pitched moans with each forward movement of McCoy’s hips.

There were bruises on his hips. A rainbow from black to yellow. This was not their first time together. The bruises were proof of that, but the familiar rhythm of Kirk’s undulations and McCoy’s encouragements, the comfortable counterpoint of McCoy’s hips slapping against Kirk’s buttocks and the gasps fighting to get out of Kirk’s mouth past McCoy’s hand on his throat would have been evidence enough even without McCoy’s primitive marking.

They didn’t notice his entrance, but they noticed his departure. He heard McCoy swear and then a surprised yell from Kirk, and, underneath that, the unmistakable sound of Kirk coming. His semen splashed on the counter as the door slid shut.

This never would have happened if Pike were still captain.

*

Twenty-eight minutes later Kirk joined him on the bridge, fully dressed and relatively composed. And he was – blushing, he realized, after a moment’s thought. He’d never seen Kirk blush before.

“May I speak to you in your ready room?” Spock requested when it became clear that there were no pressing matters that needed attending to on the bridge.

“I’d – I’d really rather not,” Kirk said, squirming in the captain’s chair.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, fine! Sulu, you have the conn.” Kirk’s blush intensified when they were alone. “Look, we both know you’re in no position to lecture me about engaging in a romantic relationship with someone else on the ship, so – ”

“That is not my intention,” Spock said, folding his hands behind him and resolutely not making eye contact.

"Then…what is?” Kirk asked warily.

Spock did his best to hide his discomfort. “I merely wished to inquire about the nature of your relationship with CMO McCoy.”

“Uh. I would have thought that was pretty obvious,” Kirk said. “You and Uhura _have_ done it, right?”

“I apologize for being unclear – I wish to inquire about the dynamics of your relationship.”

Kirk looked even more confused. “You mean, like, why I was on the bottom? Because I thought the stigma about that was over with a long time ago – ”

“Is your relationship with Dr. McCoy entirely consensual?”

“Oh, hey, wait, what – ”

“I acknowledge that I am not as well-versed in the subtleties of human sexuality as you, but it seemed that you were – that you were in a not inconsiderable amount of pain. And that Dr. McCoy was the person inflicting that pain. I would be remiss in my duties as your first officer if I didn’t express my concern for your well-being.”

“Huh,” Kirk said. “That’s – that’s actually kind of sweet of you, Spock.” He bit back the urge to argue with Kirk’s assessment of his motives. “But what I have with Bones – whatever it is, it’s not – it’s not that.”

Kirk was rubbing his right hand around his left wrist. And his voice was softer, tighter, a sign of uncomfortable tension. Spock wished that Uhura was with him to tell him what it meant. He would ask for her opinion later.

“He’s really good to me, Spock.” Kirk’s voice was even softer now, but he was smiling, a slight upwards angle of his lips. “Good _for_ me.”

“Thank you for sharing that information,” Spock said. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure,” Kirk said.

“There is a locking mechanism on the door. Next time you and Dr. McCoy feel the need to fornicate in the bathroom, please engage it.”

* * *

_(2. a time he didn’t)_

Kirk, not unsurprisingly, did not take his advice.

The next time he walked into an occupied bathroom Kirk was on the counter again – only this time, both Kirk and the doctor were wearing pants, and Kirk was facing McCoy. The doctor was standing patiently between Kirk’s knees, his face in Kirk's hands. And Kirk was - Kirk was holding a knife to his throat.

There was a fraction of a second where adrenaline flashed through him and he prepared to incapacitate one of them. Probably McCoy. He could pull him back out of Kirk's range and subdue him in case he had gone mad –

But then he took in their body language (it was a new dialect for him, but Uhura was a patient teacher). Kirk's legs were wrapped around McCoy's waist, his feet tucked around his thighs, keeping him close. McCoy's hands were around Kirk's upper arms, but not holding him back, not pulling away. It was like Uhura's foot knocking against his under the mess table. Her hand on his lower back as they rounded a corner. A casual, comforting touch. His arm around her waist as they slept. A physical confirmation that a loved one was close.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

Kirk's hand jerked with surprise and McCoy yelped – the knife left a small cut on his throat right below the jawline. "Jesus, Spock! Don't sneak up a guy like that!" Kirk was frantically tilting McCoy's head up to get a closer look at the wound, reassuring himself that he hadn't inadvertently cut his lover's throat.

McCoy was just glaring at Spock. "He's helping me shave," he growled. "And didn't anyone ever teach you to knock?"

"Not on automatic doors, no. Although Captain Kirk is attempting to teach me knock-knock jokes. He claims it's an integral part of my human heritage." He shrugged. "There are many safer, faster alternatives to scraping a sharp blade over ones' follicles – "

"I know," McCoy said, grabbing Kirk's wrists and pulling his hands away from his face, pressing them against his side. "I'm fine, Jim. Really. Just a nick. It's - it's a tradition," McCoy said, turning back to Spock.

"Like knock-knock jokes," Kirk said with a grin. Spock was beginning to doubt the veracity of Kirk’s teachings, and resolved to do more research when he got back to his PADD. "You should ask Uhura about it. I'm pretty sure she removes the hair on her legs and underarms regularly – you could do it for her sometime."

Spock stepped forward, retrieved his toothbrush, and went to avail himself of the refresher unit in Uhura's quarters. And, perhaps, to inquire about her hair removal techniques.

Two weeks later he procured shaving cream, a razor, and extra water rations. He filled up the hot tub in the shared bathroom (after locking the door, a simple, habitual procedure) and spent the next hour running the razor and his hands down the long, strong curves of Uhura's legs. He was late to his shift on the bridge. Instead of a reprimand, Kirk gave him a smirk.

* * *

_(3. a time he didn't) _

The lights were off, so at first he thought that the washroom was unoccupied. It wasn’t. McCoy was hunched over the waste receptor, vomiting violently, even though nothing seemed to be left but bile. Kirk, who was sitting next to him on the floor, moved to a defensive position when he heard the door open. He didn’t relax when he looked over and saw who it was.

“He’s not on duty,” Kirk said with a glare.

“I know,” Spock replied. Both the captain and the CMO had requested that night and the following day off from work weeks earlier. Which would imply that McCoy’s retching was not due to illness. Excessive inebriation, perhaps. McCoy spit out a mouthful of bile and held on to the sides of the basin. “I can retrieve some medication – ”

“Nah,” Kirk said, relaxing when it became apparent that Spock wasn’t going to reprimand them or inform them of some new emergency that demanded their attention. “Anything that clears up his stomach is going to have to counteract the alcohol in his system first.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see how that side-affect would be a deterrent.”

“Not ready to be sober,” McCoy said, and he laughed and it sounded hoarse and pained and horrible.

Spock was learning to recognize grief. In all of its manifestations. The contradictions of it, the denial and embrace of pain that was too much to simply move beyond. He himself had not sought relief from any drugs, but he had considered them. The allure of numbness had been – had been frighteningly seductive. The loss of Vulcan had been, and was, almost too much to bear.

McCoy told him to fuck off, and he left. He checked the cafeteria logs when he returned to his quarters and didn’t see Kirk’s name in the requests list. So he placed an order for toast and coffee to be delivered to Kirk’s chambers the following morning, soup and bread for lunch, and salad and soup for dinner, and plenty of liquids to counteract the dehydration McCoy would no doubt be suffering from.

After another minute, he changed the order and specified that the soup be chicken-flavored. According to Uhura, it was a tradition. Like shaving or childish jokes or small, unnecessary touches. A human comfort.

*

The next morning Kirk touched his wrist, a gentle brush of his fingers against Spock’s skin. He said “Thank you,” too, but the second of brief contact had been enough for Spock to sense the depths of Kirk’s gratitude. Gratitude, and surprise, and some other emotion he couldn’t identify.

Spock’s shift ended before Kirk’s, and even though he knew it is unnecessary, he wished to confirm for himself that McCoy was not suffering any negative side effects. Sick bay was quiet and nearly empty – their missions thus far had been primarily diplomatic, building on their reputation, showing their strength without getting involved in any altercations that they might possibly lose. The federation couldn’t afford to lose any more ships or confidence

McCoy’s office was tidy but cluttered, with a large non-regulation reclining chair wedged into the corner opposite his desk. Spock had intended to satisfy himself with merely a visual assessment, as McCoy tended to react negatively to Spock’s presence. From what he could see through the half-open door, McCoy seemed alert, his color good – disgruntled, but not moreso than normal. Before he could retreat McCoy saw him and beckoned him into the office.

“You didn’t have to do that,” McCoy said.

Spock waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be expecting some sort of a response. “I know,” he eventually replied.

“It was nice of you, though. Jim appreciated it. He already thinks you hung the moon, though, so don’t get too excited.” There were so many inaccuracies in McCoy’s statement that Spock couldn’t even decide what to refute first. “I have a daughter,” McCoy said, before Spock could speak. “Back on Earth.”

He picked up a holo from his desk and held it up to the light. It showed McCoy, a few years younger, standing next to a preadolescent girl. “It was her birthday,” McCoy said. “It’s – it’s just hard not to be with her, sometimes.”

Spock stood still and stared at the picture. McCoy was smiling, in the holo. It made him look impossibly young. He had his arm slung over his daughter’s shoulders, the beginning of a sunburn on his daughter’s cheeks.

“Why did you leave?”

McCoy took the holo back and traced his daughter’s form with a rough finger. “I divorced her mother. She won custody.” He shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “So now, instead of a kid and a plot of land and a few thoroughbreds, I’ve got an entire ship to take care of.”

“And Kirk,” Spock said, because it was the CMO’s duty to care for the captain. But more than that, it was - physically, and emotionally, and socially, McCoy took care of Kirk. And from what Spock had witnessed over the previous months, the sentiment was reciprocated enthusiastically.

McCoy smiled at Kirk, sometimes, the same way he smiled at his daughter. Open and bright and without reserve

“Right,” McCoy said, setting the holo back down in its rightful place. “That’s enough sharing for the day.” He nodded and turned back to his work, an informal but obvious dismissal. “Thanks,” McCoy said, when Spock was far enough away that he barely heard it.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, just as quietly..

* * *

_(4. a time he didn’t) _

“I’m covered in slime,” Kirk moaned.

“Perhaps if your attempt at ‘informal social negotiations’ had not failed quite so spectacularly – ”

“This was not my fault!” Kirk yelled, looking as outraged as it was possible to look while covered in green ectoplasm.

“With all due respect – ”

“Oh, don’t even bother. Whenever you preface yourself with ‘all due respect,’ you hurt my feelings.” The ensign at the transporter controls coughed delicately, and they both turned to glare at her.

“You’re dripping on the floor,” she said, not in the least intimidated by having borne witness to a spat between her two superior officers.

“It’s my floor!” Kirk yelled.

“I think Scotty would disagree with that sentiment,” she replied.

“I’m itchy,” Kirk said with a frown before turning to Spock. “Are you itchy?”

He was, in fact. “The discomfort is negligible. I will return to the bridge and supervise the retreat – ”

“We’re not going to retreat!” Kirk yelled, turning faintly red underneath the green slime. Spock wondered if he looked similarly when he blushed. He’d have to look in a mirror the next time Uhura engaged in ‘dirty talk.’

“No,” McCoy said, standing in the doorway, his hands on his hips. “You’re both going to sickbay.”

“We don’t have time,” Kirk insisted.

“I fear that the slime may be acting as a mild corrosive,” Spock said speculatively, his skin burning, the edge of his shirt turning a dark brown.

“Captain’s quarters are closer than sickbay,” Kirk said, and they ran towards the shower, leaving a trail of green footprints behind them.

They stripped and got into the shower together, piling their clothes on the floor, watching them with fascination as they started to smoke. McCoy did a quick scan of the gel to make sure that it wouldn’t react negatively with the water before turning on the spray and handing them both industrial strength soap.

“Which one of you should I be yelling at?” McCoy asked, staring determinedly at the ceiling.

“Spock started it,” Kirk said, contorting awkwardly to reach for his ankles without coming into contact with Spock’s genitals. “Dude. Your dick is huge!”

“Thank you,” Spock replied. Uhura found his dimensions pleasing as well. “Also, I believe you were the party responsible for inciting the food fight.”

“A food fight? Really, Jim?” McCoy looked at them for a brief second before blushing and turning away again.

“It was awesome,” Kirk assured him. “At first. It was fine until I, uh, may have accidentally possibly for a brief second thrown the ceremonial vase at their head honcho. In my defense, it did look a _lot_ like a wine goblet.”

“And where exactly did the slime come from? Were you _eating_ that?” All three of them turned to look at the pile of ash that had been their uniforms.

“Thankfully, no. The Trengans are actually a lot like octopuses. Octopi. No, wait, I mean squid.”

“They excrete ink when irritated,” Spock elaborated.

“That’s what I said,” Kirk replied, before smacking Spock in the posterior with a towel.

“This is not my life,” McCoy said with a groan.

“I am going to the bridge,” Spock said, stepping out of range from the captain’s makeshift weapon. “To see if there is any possibility of continuing negotiations.”

“Right,” Kirk said decisively. “And I’ll go – ”

“Nowhere,” McCoy interrupted. He stepped up the shower and grabbed Kirk’s wrist, fast and possessive. Kirk’s cock jumped and his eyes widened. “You’re having an allergic reaction,” he said, looking at the red circles appearing on Kirk’s exposed skin.

“Damn,” Kirk said softly. “Spock – convey my deep regrets and apologies for both unintentionally offending them, and for being unable to apologize in person, okay? Call me if you need me, I’ll be on comm – ”

“No, you won’t,” McCoy said with a growl, pulling the captain towards the door. Spock looked away before he could see if Kirk had another involuntary physical reaction to McCoy’s rough handling.

He left them arguing in the bathroom and went to explain the old earth custom of bonding through mutual projectile application of edible material to the Trengans. And then to figure out some way to frame the event in his mission reports that wouldn’t get them all immediately reassigned. Kirk was much more skilled at obfuscation than he was. He looked regretfully at the closed bathroom door before grabbing a spare uniform and heading to the bridge.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

_(5. a time he didn’t)_

After the Enterprise’s maiden voyage, after Vulcan, after the Narada, after Earth, after weeks of repairs on fractures in the hull and new warp cores and one funeral for thirty-nine fallen crew members, the media hailed them as heroes. Starfleet gave them medals and promotions and new quarters. Together they gave the citizens in the Federation and the crew themselves the belief that they were invulnerable. That they could do the impossible. Kirk would save them all, again and again and again, with his charm and brilliance and sheer stubborn refusal to give up.

It had been a lovely, impossible myth. And one that was hard to lose.

The Ondins killed the entire landing party except for Kirk, and then sent the bodies back in pieces. A day after that they sent their demands. Two days after Spock refused to negotiate with terrorists, they sent a holo of Jim Kirk on his knees. Screaming until he lost his voice. And then another hour of Jim’s throat working, his mouth open, while no sound emerged.

Federation guidelines were very clear about what steps to take next. About how to refuse, how to threaten, who to call for back-up. As acting captain, Spock was obliged to advocate that course of action. Five minutes after calling for a meeting he was overruled by every other senior member of the crew. He sent the Ondins the blueprints they had demanded. Five hours after that, they received a set of coordinates.

It took Chekov twenty-seven seconds to find Kirk and beam him onboard. Kirk was already on his knees, and the sound of his flesh hitting the pad was quieter than the gasps from the crew members crowded into the small room. It was good that he was already kneeling, because if he had been standing, he would have fallen. And none of them would have caught him in time. No one wanted to touch him.

Spock could taste pain in the air.

The captain’s mental shields had been flayed, torn, left in tatters. He was broadcasting terror and every human crew member present flinched away from their captain. Everyone except McCoy, who was already beginning to move towards him. Spock stopped him before he got too close. “He’s fragile,” he said, and McCoy glared at him.

“I can see that, I’m not an _idiot_!”

“He is mentally fragile. Don’t get too close.” McCoy obeyed. He walked around Jim and scanned him, his hands shaking. Kirk was naked. His exposed skin was pale but unblemished. The Ondins were telepaths. They hadn’t needed to touch him.

McCoy declared him physically stable and Spock knelt next to him on the transporter pad. “My mind to your mind,” he whispered, and he placed his fingers on Jim’s face.

Images of a cliff. Dream after dream of defying gravity and flying, the cliff from every angle, over the edge then from above and finally below, the blue sky growing further and further away, _oh,_ they were falling. Dream after dream, the blue of Kirk’s eyes, the sky shrinking as he fell. Adrenaline and freedom and failure.

A collection of holos in cheap frames of a man Spock knew from his own research as George Kirk, a man he now knew as _father, father, father, _a man he didn’t know at all.

He saw the smile but not the face of Winona Kirk, haunting the corners of Jim’s mind. Just a smile, as if that was the part of her that mattered most, what he wanted, craved, the memory of one single smile.

A kaleidoscope of memory, a tornado, and each memory dangerous debris, his mind a minefield, and in the center was Jim. Spock cradled him in his mind, every tense shaking part of him, for as long as he could. And when the storm became too rough he followed the sound of McCoy’s voice (like a lifeline, an escape pod, a familiar feature in the landscape of Jim’s mind) back to the hushed tension of the transporter room.

It had been minutes. Only minutes. Minutes in the mind of a tortured man and he went to the side of the pad to vomit before returning. He put one arm around Jim’s shoulders, another beneath his knees, and lifted him off the transporter pad. “Dr. McCoy. If the captain does not need immediate medical attention, I would like to take him to his quarters.”

McCoy looked from Spock to Kirk and back again, then at the tricorder in his shaking hands, and then to the crew. Chekov hadn’t moved after typing in the last order that brought their broken captain back. Scotty had his face in his hands, staring at the scene unfolding in front of him like it was a scary movie he couldn’t look away from. Uhura looked him dead on, ready to offer any assistance they should need.

The captain was in pain. The captain was in pain and terrified and lost, and the crew needed to believe he was invulnerable.

“Doctor?”

“He’s too cold,” McCoy replied. “We can warm him up in his quarters as easily as we can in sickbay.” It was a lie but it was one the crew could believe. McCoy stripped off his overshirt and draped it over the captain’s groin before leading the way out of the room.

The hot tub held all three of them comfortably. Spock was still in uniform, McCoy had stripped to his boxers. Kirk was cradled against Spock’s chest, McCoy standing in front of them, carefully keeping the tricorder from getting wet. Kirk was lighter than he expected. He had more angles and planes than Nyota, but he settled into the curve of Spock’s body the same way she did. McCoy ran his hands through Kirk’s hair the same way Nyota’s fingers did through Spock’s.

The water felt lukewarm but he knew it would be a few degrees above a normal human body temperature. Comparatively, Kirk felt like an ice cube.

“What’s wrong with him?” McCoy asked, when none of his scans pulled up any reason why he shouldn’t have already woken up.

“He’s – retreated,” Spock said, thinking of the tactical advantage of the small space Kirk had barricaded himself into. The eye of the storm.

“Kirk never retreats,” McCoy said with a glare.

“Apparently,” Spock replied. “Sometimes, he does.” When the battlefield was his mind and he had few defenses and no weapons. He adjusted Kirk’s weight in his arms to make sure that his head would stay afloat if Spock lost his hold. “I’m going to tell him that it is safe to come back now.”

“What should I do?” McCoy asked. He set the tricorder down and moved closer.

“Hold on,” Spock asked. He placed his fingers on Jim’s face again, felt McCoy’s arms settle around them both, and reentered the storm.

*

It took days.

They moved Jim to sickbay, Sulu took over as acting captain, and Spock spent every moment he could in the captain’s mind. Following Jim as he walked the fences, mending the ones that were broken, corralling the thoughts that had been set free.

_Mom, stop comparing me to a dead man._  
If you leave now, there won’t be a place for you to come back to.  
Whore. Filthy, stupid slut.  
Sam, where are you going?  
I’m not lying. Mom, I’m not lying.  
I dare you to do better.  
James Tiberius Kirk. James Tiberius Kirk.  
I love you.

His mother’s solitary smile, his father’s picture, the words McCoy laughed and whispered and swore to: at night, in the morning, in the warm light of day, in and out of bed, against the soft skin behind his ear, the trail of hair below his navel, against the trembling muscles in his thighs, _Jim, I love you. _

Jim found the fences and Spock showed him how to fix them because over the years he had become an expert in walls.

Hour after hour. And then McCoy would shake them apart, and Nyota would take him to bed and feed him, and hold him as he found himself alone, held him until he learned again that he wasn’t.

When Kirk opened his eyes the first thing he did was smirk. “You totally got into the hot tub with me and Bones, didn’t you? I _knew_ you were hot for my body!”

Spock, who got the joke, now, who understood what secrets hid behind it, just smiled.

* * *

_(6. a time he did: the remix)_

Two years into their voyage, Kirk and McCoy walked into the bathroom and Spock, whose hearing was somewhat impaired because Nyota’s thighs were wrapped tightly around his head, didn’t actually hear the door open. He did, however, hear Kirk laughing, and then McCoy shouting “Lock the goddamn door, people!”

He tried to stand up and apologize, but Nyota held him steady, put her hands on his head and pulled him forward until his tongue was buried even further inside of her. “Don’t you – _dare_ – stop – ”

*

None of this would have happened if Pike were still captain. Surprisingly, Spock found that he was not displeased by the difference.

* * *

_Reviews are loved and adored!_


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